


Field Notes

by sneeze_wizard



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff, Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Recreational Soccer League AU, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29527020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneeze_wizard/pseuds/sneeze_wizard
Summary: Lena dug her heel into the grass and tightened her jaw as she watched the other woman traipse off. Bloody hell, she was proud of herself. “It’s a recreational soccer league!” Lena shot back. “It’s weird and embarrassing that you lot are so stuck up about it!”Lena Oxton plays in a recreational soccer league with her Overwatch coworkers, and can't seem to get her mind off of a particular player on a rival team.
Relationships: Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	Field Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Borichu for the very helpful beta read. I would not have been able to claw myself out of this writing slump and post something without you, pal!
> 
> P.S. -- I don't actually know anything about soccer, but neither do the characters in this story.

Sixty minutes into the game, the opposing team called in a replacement for their defender. Lena took the opportunity to catch her breath. Sweat poured down her forehead, and she wiped it off with her arm. She was tired, but her extra effort had paid off – the other team’s defense was faltering, and they were out of substitutions.

And honestly, any amount of frustration that Lena could cause for Talon— _who the hell named their team ‘Talon,’ anyway? —_ was a victory. They were all smug assholes who worked for some fancy private equity firm downtown, no doubt spending their weekdays counting all the money they didn’t really deserve before coming to the pitch for their amateur soccer matches on the weekend.

The captain was the worst of all. A surly, hyper-competitive man named Gabriel. He never missed a game. Lena had, on more than a few occasions, overheard him scheduling mandatory training sessions for his teammates. For an _amateur social soccer league_ , of all things. The point was to get some exercise and then get drunk at a bar afterward.

Talon’s substitute jogged onto the field. Lena was sure she hadn’t seen her before, because she would have absolutely remembered. She found herself staring at the woman as play started, dark brown hair pulled up into a high ponytail and the most incredible pair of dancer’s legs that she had ever—

“Oxton, are you fucking serious?” Jack growled from behind her. Somewhere between ogling the woman like a schoolboy and contemplating her own inadequacy, Lena had missed a pass straight to her feet and allowed the new defender to snatch possession of the ball. And then the woman passed to Gabriel, who passed to their striker, Olivia, who shot it into the net. 2-0.

Lena wanted to slap herself. _Fuck me, I am bloody useless._ Jack shook his head at her as they ran back into position for the kickoff. “Sorry, Jack,” Lena shouted over her shoulder, “I started wondering if I left the stove on. Won’t happen again.” _That was a very pathetic attempt at an excuse, Oxton. Try not to dig yourself into a deeper hole._ “And I don’t think I left the stove on, actually, so don’t worry about that either.” _Fuck._

“Just keep your eyes on the damn ball.”

Across the field, the new defender raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her. Great. Another smug goddamn Talon player. And they played them again in a month.

Overwatch lost 5-0. Talon scored three more points in the last thirty minutes of the game, which was embarrassing, even by their standards. Lena dropped to her knees in the middle of the pitch, ripping at the grass below her and groaning in frustration. She usually didn’t care about winning, but it was an absolute kick to the stomach to lose so miserably. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jack and Hana walking toward her. From the looks on their faces, she guessed that she was buying everyone a round of drinks at the pub that night.

“Ah, fuck it.” Lena rolled over on her back and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. A foot nudged her side, and she groaned and covered her eyes with her arm. “Just a second, Jack, I’m trying to live with my shame.”

“I was led to believe that you would be more of a challenge for me.”

The smooth, French-accented voice did not belong to Jack. Lena opened her eyes and blinked. The new player, Lacroix, judging from the back of her jersey, stood over her, a bored expression on her face. What the hell kind of workplace were they, anyway? The entire lot of them were the most vicious, competitive people she had ever met. And she’d only seen them during their leisure time. 

“Yeah, good game to you, too, I guess. Say, you mind being a total robot over there with the rest of your crew? I’m trying to enjoy what’s left of my evening.” 

The other woman simply laughed and hovered over Lena, staring down at her.

“What?” Lena frowned.

“Oh, nothing.” She hummed, tapping one finger on her cheek. “I am just taking a moment to appreciate how funny it is when you’ve embarrassed yourself.” 

Sputtering, Lena felt her mouth contort into something halfway between disbelief and fury. And she was suddenly very aware of how unflattering it probably looked, face all blushing and twisted up like some kind of tomato in the rejected produce section. There was no reason to stay in the woman’s godawful presence, so she leapt to her feet and stalked off toward Jack and Hana. 

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but Lena cut him off. “Let’s just go. Obviously, I’m buying.”

* * *

It didn’t help that their usual bar always played soccer matches on TV. She tried to look away from anything that would remind her of the total fool she had made of herself about an hour prior. Which was difficult, considering the whole place was covered in banners and soccer jerseys. Resigned, Lena slumped over the bar and handed over her credit card. “Tab’s on me tonight.”

“Just the first round.” Jack gestured toward the bartender. “She doesn’t actually make that much.”

Lena glared at him before turning back to the glass of beer in front of her, watching as a drop of condensation slowly made its way down the edge of the glass. 

“You know we _always_ lose, Lena,” Hana said, sliding onto the barstool next to her. “I mean _my_ performance is always flawless, but we still lose all the time.“ 

Lena groaned, but Hana dismissed her with a glib wave of her hand and continued. “So I’m not really sure why you’re so beat up about it this time.”

Lena blew a tuft of hair out of her face and took a drink. It was one of the stronger beers on the menu. “Yeah but usually we don’t lose this hard, you know? And usually it’s not entirely my fault.”

“Lena. You’re not the only player on the team. You didn’t score but—I mean, Reinhardt dropped the ball. Literally. He scored an own-goal. He was too embarrassed to come out drinking with us. At least you’re here.”

“Well, here’s to that.” Lena raised a glass against Hana’s and took another drink. “That woman just completely threw me for a loop. The new one. Lacroix, or whoever.”

“Oh! The one who you were too busy checking out to receive the pass I sent you?” Hana’s eyes gleamed in the way they only did when she felt like she was arriving upon a particularly juicy bit of gossip.

“It’s not like that,” Lena hissed. “I just, well it won’t happen again, she’s a bloody terror, really. Not my type. Mostly.” Christ, she could feel herself blushing again. She was certain there would be no shortage of teasing about that incident for the rest of the season.

Jack chuckled to himself. “Nobody does well against Amélie Lacroix the first time. I knew we were fucked the moment I found out she had joined the team again.”

Of course she had to have some ridiculously fancy French name. _Amélie._ The sound of it in Lena’s head made her want to gag, and also to say it over and over again, and—Lena whirled around on the barstool to face Jack. “Hold up. Join the team _again_? She’s never played for them before.”

He shook his head. “No, she has. A few years ago, before you joined. I was fucking thrilled when she left it, honestly. She’s really good—not that it matters, since we don’t win. But she’s even more stuck up than Gabriel.”

“Ugh, so why does she have to come back now?”

Jack sighed. “I dunno. I heard rumors that there was a divorce or something.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Lena grumbled into her beer.

“Be nice now. Anyway, that’s probably why she’s rejoined the team. More free time. As for the rest of them, their company invests in the league. I think they want to feel like they own the place. Whatever. Next round’s on me.”

Lena squinted at Jack. “We have work tomorrow, you know.” 

“I’ve never been the one with the problem holding their beer. You’re the one who’s gotta watch yourself, kiddo.” He raised his credit card in the air in a particularly showy manner. The woman at the bar looked over her shoulder, rolled her eyes, and took his order.

A man entered the bar and looked around, then straight at them. Gabriel. Lena tugged at Jack’s arm, trying to quietly draw his attention to the man walking toward them. 

“You see, Lena,” Jack continued, swatting her hand away, “you gotta pace yourself. Also, it would help if you weren’t the size of a Keebler—”

Gabriel slammed his fist onto the bar behind Jack. Lena gave the man a sour look, and he glowered back at her. And because Lena couldn’t catch a fucking break, to his left, was Amélie. She leaned against the bar beside Gabriel, arms crossed as she examined the room around her with remarkable disinterest. 

Without turning around, Jack closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “There are so many goddamn tables you could pick, Gabe. Any one of them. This place is virtually empty.”

“We like the bar.”

“Well ain’t that nice? We like it too. And we also like drinking in peace.”

Lena, for her part, tried her very best to keep her eyes focused on the drink in front of her. She took another sip, trying not to shift her gaze to the woman who had thrown her so far off of her game earlier that day.

“I’m going to need you two to take this outside.” The bartender sounded bored. It probably wasn’t the first time she’d have to stop a fight that night.

“Yeah, sure thing.” Jack got off the barstool and looked at Lena and Hana. “You two stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes. That okay with you, barkeep?”

“Whatever. Just don’t get arrested.”

Lena forced herself to relax a little. Okay, the idea of forcing herself to relax was a bit self-contradictory but she made an attempt, anyway. She glanced up from her drink and was relieved to find that Amélie had seated herself on the opposite end of the bar. The other woman looked down at her phone, tracing a delicate finger around the rim of her martini glass. It was hard not to stare.

Hana leaned in toward Lena. “So, are we gonna hang out or are you just gonna gawk at her?”

God, she was never going to live the day down. She bit her lip and motioned for the bartender. “I’m not gawking! I’m glaring. Key difference.”

Hana flashed her a skeptical look. 

“Fine, sorry. Another round?”

“Obviously. You’re paying.”

“I’ve already paid for the—fine. Could we get another round of beers?” 

The bartender looked at Lena, and then pointed at a beer mug in front of her. “You haven’t finished your drink.”

“Yes I have, I—Oh, no that’s neither of ours. I don’t know whose that is.”

“It’s yours. The woman over there bought it for you,” she replied airily, gesturing in Amélie’s direction. Lena stiffened. “She said it was on her, and to tell you sorry for your loss.”

Lena spun around on her stool and glared at the woman, who still didn’t look up from her phone. “No. I don’t want it. Just return it. Just close out my tab, actually.”

“Hey!” Hana snatched the beer. “It’s mine now. I’ll have it.”

Lena slapped a wad of money on the bar, overpaying by a significant amount, told the bartender to keep the change, and said a hurried goodbye to Hana, who didn’t have time to respond before she was out the door.

The woman had gotten on her nerves, and Jesus–did she have to look so good doing it? No, she was bad news and Lena didn’t want the last thing to do with her. Maybe she could quit the team. Or move to defense. Or move to Canada. Okay, the last idea was a bit overdramatic. Jack would be furious if she quit. God, she didn’t want to think about it. _Just give it a few days to simmer down. You’ve always been a bit of a hothead._ She hailed a cab home.

* * *

Lena opened the spreadsheet again and stared at the data until her eyes crossed. What time was it? 3:00p.m. Just two more hours. She sighed and continued writing the formulas in the cells. She clicked one, and the spreadsheet had turned into a green soccer field, the cells in the center of the sheet forming a pixelated black-and-white soccer ball. _The hell?_ She blinked and tried to close out the document, but nothing happened. A scoreboard appeared at the corner of the screen, the score digits flashed red—5-0, 5-0, 5-0.

A loud thunk startled her awake. Hana sat on the edge of her desk, holding a large paperweight, presumably the source of the noise, in her hand. “You fell asleep.”

“I guess I’ll get some more coffee.”

“Great! Let’s go to the shop to get some,” said Hana, swinging her legs off the side of Lena’s desk. “I hate what’s in the office.”

“Have you gotten anything done today?”

“No, but at least I haven’t fallen asleep.” Hana picked up the stapler on Lena’s desk and started clacking it together as if it were an alligator. “Ready for practice this afternoon?”

Right. She had forgotten about practice and stayed up too late last night, stewing about the game a few days ago and the bar and Talon and—Lena stopped herself from spiraling further. “No, but I’ll go.”

“Great! Let’s play a one-on-one game when we’re there. I’ll definitely beat you if you’ve been falling asleep on the–“

“Would you shut up? My manager is like, right there.” Lena looked anxiously at Angela’s office. The door was closed, thankfully. “And stop playing with my stapler.”

“Whatever. I feel like I could kick your ass today.”

“Can I get back to work now?”

The other woman huffed, jumping to her feet with an exaggerated motion. “Okay, be that way. Lúcio is back at his desk anyway, so I guess I’ll go bug him instead.”

“You _do_ work here, right?”

* * *

Practice usually involved them doing a few laps, running a few drills, and then drinking beer that they’d smuggled onto the field while lazily kicking the ball to one another. That day wasn’t any different, really. After a few half-hearted attempts to improve her dribbling, Lena collapsed down onto the grass next to Hana and opened up a can of beer. She took a sip and leaned back, eyes closed, letting the sun wash over her face. “You think they’ll let us out early on Friday?”

“Look over there.”

Lena opened her eyes, and traced where Hana was pointing to. “What?”

“Talon decided to practice today too, I guess.”

There were several fields at the complex they had chosen, and Talon had begun setting up shop at the next one over. Lena recognized Gabriel, running drills with a woman who Lena was pretty sure was named Olivia. Lena looked away before she could spot Lacroix, who she hated to admit had taken up more than her share of thoughts the past few days.

“Christ. Let’s try not to draw their attention.” Lena took another swig of her beer. “Jack, I think we should practice more. If we’re going to have to deal with Talon multiple times this season, we should at least get good enough to enjoy ourselves.

The older man eyed her suspiciously. “This is the first time you’ve cared about beating them. And you just opened a beer.”

“Whatever then, we’ll just use the beer cans as cones.” She took one last drink from the beer she had opened and set it down on the field, then took three more and set them apart from one another in a straight line. She then carried the ball to one end of the row of cans. Jack, for his part, simply crossed his arms and blinked at her. Lena scowled at him. “Well are you going to practice with me or not?”

He grunted and moved to grab a ball from his bag.

Lena squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and took a deep breath, willing herself to focus on the task at hand and push the thought of Talon and Amélie out of her mind. Not that she had been thinking about them overly much, of course—they just happened to be practicing right there, which was understandably distracting for perfectly normal reasons that Lena had no desire to unpack further. She shifted her body weight forward and began a dribbling drill, practicing feinting, shifting her upper body in one direction but moving the ball and her feet in another. She zigged around each of the beer cans and turned around, attempting to run the drill faster each time. 

Practicing gave her a surge of confidence. Something about the steady, incremental gains, tiny as they were, built up an optimism within her. She knocked over one of the cans the second time around. But on the third time, she didn’t. On the fourth time, she practically tripped over herself, but managed to pull it off gracefully the time afterward. Eventually she lost count of how many reps she had done – she could feel herself getting tired, and had turned around for one more before taking a break when a hand fell on her shoulder. “Giving up already, Jack?”

The voice of Amélie Lacroix answered, oozing her characteristic detached smugness. “Your form needs work. You leave too much space between yourself and the ball when you…attempt to do whatever you were doing here.”

Lena batted the other woman’s wrist off of her shoulder and whirled around. Jack sat by the cooler and lifted the beer in his hand sarcastically in their direction. _Bloody help he was._ She’d chew him out later for not stopping the woman from walking over.

“Thanks for the unsolicited feedback. I hope you don’t charge for advice, because it’s bloody terrible.”

Every single move the woman made seemed calculated to provoke a reaction from Lena. She could feel irritation simmering within her as Lacroix placed a delicate hand on her chest, feigning offense. “I only wanted to help. Ah, well.” She laughed and turned, flicking her long ponytail over her shoulder. “We play again next month, no? We’ll see then if you’ve improved at all.”

Lena dug her heel into the grass and tightened her jaw as she watched the other woman traipse off. Bloody hell, she was proud of herself. “It’s a recreational soccer league!” Lena shot back. “It’s weird and embarrassing that you lot are so stuck up about it!”

If she had heard Lena, the Frenchwoman did not acknowledge it.

* * *

The game was in a month. And there was absolutely no reason for Lena to read into the fact that, for the first time since she’d joined the soccer league, she actually paid attention to when a particular game was instead of almost forgetting and waking up to a bunch of frantic texts from Jack and Hana. She’d finally decided to commit herself to the team, for its own sake, and not because she had suddenly developed a near-obsessive desire to see the look on Talon and Amélie Lacroix’s faces when they finally and deservedly got their asses handed to them at recreational goddamn social soccer. 

So, in a completely healthy and non-obsessive manner, Lena began to head down to the soccer pitch nearly every day to practice. She pushed herself harder. She was sore every morning and almost certainly causing more harm to her body than good, but the act of practicing made her feel some semblance of control.

She had lost track of how many rounds of sprints she’d done. Her legs shook from exertion. She’d probably overdone it. Yesterday had been dribbling drills. The day before, core strength. And before that, she’d run until she couldn’t stand anymore and had to hail a cab home. She looked at her phone to check the time – it was 5:30 p.m. Jack walked toward her from the other end of the field, right on time.

“What the hell, Oxton? You look like somebody dropped a sack of bricks on you.”

“I did a few sprints.” She held up a hand, preempting his reply. “I know, I know, I just want to get better at–“

“Lena. My god, nobody gives a shit. The referee was texting during the entire match last weekend. Half our team doesn’t even know how offsides works.”

“I just don’t want to let–“

Jack closed the distance between them and clapped a hand on Lena’s shoulder, giving her his notorious ‘lighten up, kid’ look. “This is about Talon, isn’t it? That woman got under your skin.”

Something about his question made her stomach drop. She’d been dehydrated before, but now her tongue shriveled up in her mouth entirely. She hoped he’d interpret her flushed cheeks as a product of exercise, and not something else.

“Fine. It’s just that they were such assholes, and I want to stick it to them. I’m practicing some new moves. Trying to change it up a bit, you know?”

He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to figure something out. Lena gave her best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“Fuck it. If we get drinks you’ll be blackout after half a beer, from the looks of you. Let’s just get smoothies or something.”

Lena welcomed the change of topic. “Yeah, sounds good.”

“Oh, and you smell like all hell. Take a shower in the locker room first.”

* * *

Lena eyed the unnerving decor as they waited in line at Silky Smoothie, the most ill-advised dining establishment in town. “So have you been to this place before?”

Jack looked over a paper handout of the menu, which, in fitting with the smoothie shop’s baffling commitment to an arachnid theme, was covered in illustrations of spiders juggling various fruits. “I have not. I’m not sure I will again.”

A bored woman greeted them at the cash register. “Welcome to Silky Smoothie,” she recited. “What delicious drink can I spin up for you today?”

Lena winced at the pun. “Um…strawberry? Just strawberry.”

“And for you, sir?”

Jack seemed antsy, clearly trying not to look at the high-resolution photographs of various spiders that the place thought would be suitable decoration for a smoothie joint.

“Yeah one strawberry – whatever she got, honestly. Make it a large.”

The woman at the cash register added up the total at an agonizing pace and leaned against the counter while she waited for the machine to process Lena’s card. Lena flashed her an uncomfortable smile and looked down at her name tag. “So...Dana. Nice name. Spiders, huh?”

Dana rolled her eyes and yanked the receipt out of the machine, returning the card to Lena. “If you fill out the customer satisfaction survey on the receipt, you’ll get a $5 coupon.”

Lena glanced at the survey on the bottom of the receipt. _On a scale of one to ‘legcellent’ how was your meal?_ “Oh…um, I think I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

They took their smoothies to the table.

“Well…the smoothie is pretty good, at least,” Jack said, poking at what was left in his cup with the straw.

“Maybe they’ll change the branding.” Lena looked around the room. On the other end of the restaurant was a child’s birthday party. The attendees all wore extremely realistic-looking spider hats provided by the store. “No, it seems like they’ve really committed to it.”

Jack grimaced and cleared his throat. “So, usually you don’t practice at all.”

“Right,” Lena replied stiffly. She imagined that she was the smoothie, and Jack’s questions were the straw poking at her, prodding her for no good reason.

“And…now you’re practicing all of a sudden. Why?” 

“Just hated losing, is all.”

“Lena.” Jack dropped the smoothie down on the table unceremoniously and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands as he scrutinized her. “We’re terrible. We lose most of the time.”

“So?” 

“It’s that girl, isn’t it?”

“What girl?” But Lena knew. And Jack knew she knew, so he kept staring, and Lena found something strange bubbling within her, a skittish anxiety that rose from her chest and made its way up to her ears, which suddenly felt steaming hot despite the brain freeze from the smoothie. And then she was babbling, was that sweat on her palms or just condensation from the cup and– 

“She’s the worst, right,” Lena said, stumbling through her words, “extremely smug, very terrible, also she definitely cheats, unsportsmanlike, don’t ask me how I know but I know. I mean I guess I don’t know, but honestly look at her, she’s definitely cheating, and–“

“So you like her.”

Lena squeezed the smoothie cup, forcing the lid off, and spilling the drink everywhere. With an exaggerated yelp she leapt toward the napkins on the other edge of the table, knocked them over with her too-shaky hands and desperately attempted to wipe up the spilled drink. It only succeeded in smearing the pink liquid everywhere.

The woman from the cash register stared down at them, face turned down in a scowl as the smoothie dripped from the table onto the floor. “We can clean it up.” 

“Oh! Sorry. Great. Well. Thank you. We’ll let you get to that then, right Jack? Gotta go.” Lena hopped up from her seat and pulled a stunned Jack up by his wrist and out of the shop.

“Are you feeling ok?” Jack finally asked, after an awkward few moments of silence on the curb outside.

“You know I’m really not,” Lena said, words spilling out of her mouth more quickly than she intended. “Maybe I’ve been overdoing it with the training. Feeling a bit lightheaded and feverish, not really with it, you know?”

Jack looked down at his smoothie and shoved it in Lena’s hand. “Here, have this.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to–“

“You’re not feeling well, it’s good for you.”

“Thanks,” Lena laughed nervously. “I mean not really. I mean, really thanks but it’s not really good for me. Like, it’s got a lot of sugar in it, probably.”

Jack looked her over, clearly searching for an appropriate response. He settled for an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Well. Get some rest. See you in a couple days, ok? And take it easy.”

Lena nodded. “Yes, see you then!”

As Jack walked away, Lena noticed another smoothie shop across the street. Gorilla Freeze. It looked decidedly normal and not spider-themed at all.

* * *

She managed to catch the last bus home. Lena stepped into the bus and rummaged through her bag for her bus card, smiling apologetically at the driver.

He cleared his throat. “You can’t have that here.” He tapped on the sign above him. “NO FOOD OR DRINK AT ANY TIME.”

“C’mon man, I don’t have anywhere to put it. I’ll keep the lid on.”

“No.”

Lena groaned. _Are you fucking kidding me?_ It must have been the first time in all of human history that a bus driver had given a shit about that rule. “Listen. This is the last bus home and I’m broke. Just give me 30 seconds to throw this away somewhere, then.”

The driver rolled his eyes, but gestured for her to go. She pushed past the rest of the people boarding the bus, darted over to the nearest trashcan, and threw the smoothie away. _Damn_ , she thought. _I still had half of that thing left._

By the time Lena got back on the bus, all the seats had been taken. Except one, which was usually not a good sign. She walked toward it, expecting some hideous stain or pile of trash to have been left on it. Instead, she found a journal. It was leather, dyed violet, with embroidered white lilies on the cover. It looked expensive. She looked at the man in the starched suit, sitting stiffly in the window seat next to it. “Um, is this your journal, then?”

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “No.”

“Oh.”

Lena grabbed the journal and sat in the seat. She pondered the cover and thought about what kind of person might carry a journal around with them. Lena had never been one to keep a journal. Every time she tried to write something profound or meaningful, it came out stilted and weird. She opened the front cover, hoping to find some indication of who owned it so she could return it. No such luck. But what drew her attention was the delicate script that graced the front page. She traced over the curves and loops, hardly paying attention to what the writing was about—it looked like a shopping list, nothing particularly interesting. She turned the page, and—

The next entry was about soccer. Now _that_ was interesting. There were a few notes on plays and tactics, a training to-do list, a workout schedule. Lena was suddenly met with the realization that she was reading through someone else’s journal, which was probably unethical. She looked at the man sitting next to her. He was staring out the window, ignoring her presence completely.

So she turned the page again and nearly dropped the notebook entirely.

Whoever owned this journal had taken notes about _their_ team. Had meticulously described tactics, strategies, and the strengths and weaknesses of each player. Lena’s eyes darted to the note next to her name.

_“Oxton. Talented, but predictable. Reminiscent of a border collie.”_

Somebody was spying on her while she was training. Lena slammed the notebook shut, a little too dramatically. The man next to her glanced back at her with a puzzled look on his face.

“Oh! Nothing, just accidentally opened it. Don’t want to invade someone’s privacy, you know?”

Lena pulled her phone out of her bag and opened up the group text she had going with her team members.

_WE NEED TO MEET UP ASAP._

Lena tapped her thumbs on the screen, waiting impatiently for a reply. She thought about taking a photo of the journal and sharing it with them, but decided that she wasn’t quite ready to look at it again. Border collie, what the hell? She was at the very least something more dignified, like a—well she wasn’t a bloody dog, that’s what.

Hana was the first to respond.

_Lena we already told you we don’t want to do a movie night if we’re watching Jaws again, we’re sick of it and I, for one, do not want to live every week like it’s Shark Week. Also, I’m busy._

Lena rolled her eyes and typed out another response.

_PLEASE?_

Jack responded this time.

_Take it off caps lock, Oxton. I’ll meet you at the bar later. Guess we’re getting drinks after all, but please, for the love of god, eat something first._

* * *

Jack grunted. “I’m cutting you off, Lena.”

“Hey! I’ve only had the one.”

“Oh really?” Jack smiled. “I wouldn’t have known based on how hyped up you are.”

“It’s not every day I uncover soccer intrigue! Seriously, why are you two not as pissed off as I am? Somebody’s cheating!”

Jack rolled his eyes and took another drink. That was generally how their friendship went — Lena got herself worked up about one thing or another, and dragged Jack begrudgingly along for the ride. Like that time she was convinced that they’d changed the recipe for Oreos and pulled Jack into an ultimately fruitless series of internet deep dives and phone calls to customer service. Or the time that she roped him into an office stakeout to find out who was stealing from Lena’s snack drawer. They never caught the culprit, and Lena had a sneaking suspicion that it had been Jack all along.

But this — this was _actually_ something. She had to convince him to give a shit. “Jack, this time we spend together is the one thing I look forward to after our boring, crappy workweek–“

“I’m in management, you know.”

“Congratulations. Anyway, it’s the one thing I look forward to after my miserable job, I love spending time with you all, and if whoever it is ruins this, then I’ll be devastated.”

With a grunt, Jack set his beer down and turned toward Lena, the expression on his face an odd combination of resignation and empathy. “Okay, fine. I’ll keep an eye out then, try to see if I can figure out who it is, then tell them to lay off. Until then, try not to worry about it.”

* * *

Of course, Lena did not let it go. Instead, she made plans.

The game against Talon was in a week, and Lena had her suspicions about precisely who was spying on the other teams in the league. Who else would it be? Nobody else cared enough. So she thought to catch them in the act.

Lena grabbed a relatively clean hoodie from the pile of clothes on her floor, slid it on, and pulled the hood over her baseball cap, tightening it so that it clung tightly to her head. She looked in the mirror, satisfied that it would do the trick of hiding her identity. And the final touch, sunglasses.

Now she just had to figure out an activity that made her seem casual enough not to be creepy. Which, given the sunglasses on a rainy day, was a bit more challenging than she would have liked.

Five minutes later, Lena found herself walking over to the nearest convenience store to buy cigarettes. She did not smoke, and did not understand how. The cashier raised an eyebrow at her as she attempted to order them.

“You want cigarettes? What brand?”

She hadn’t even thought of it. “Yeah um, which are your favorites?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Right.” 

“…do _you?”_

_“_ Yeah, yeah, real big smoker here, all into it. I’ll take the Sigma Slims and a lighter.”

He didn’t look convinced. The man rang her up and slid the cigarettes over the counter. Lena shoved them into the pocket of her hoodie and set off toward the fields.

As predicted, Talon was practicing on the pitch. Lena picked a spot underneath a tree that she hoped was fairly inconspicuous. 

_I just look like someone having a smoke. Certainly not trying to gather information about a rival team or anything._

Lena slid one of the cigarettes out of the box and squinted at it. She fumbled with the lighter and lit one end, glancing toward the field as she put the other end in her mouth and inhaled.

And immediately wretched. Good god, it tasted awful. Smoke filled her nostrils and lungs and Lena couldn’t stop herself from keeling over and coughing, and immediately dropping the cigarette onto the ground.

A man sitting on a bench near her laughed. “You lit the wrong end.”

Lena glared at him. “Just wasn’t paying attention is all.”

The man followed her gaze toward the field. “I see that.”

Lena paused. Was she really that obvious? After a moment of consideration, she decided it was too late to change the plan, and settled on taking another cigarette from the box and pretending to smoke it, unlit. Talon was too busy playing a needlessly intense scrimmage match anyway. Why couldn’t they just use soccer as an excuse to get drunk and meet people like the rest of the league?

All of them were good. Lena attempted to take note of each player’s tactics, one at a time, but found herself more and more drawn to Lacroix. Watching her didn’t make Lena feel any better about her chances. The woman was always a step ahead of everyone who tried to get past her. She was fast, graceful, and managed to do everything without looking tired. She made it look easy.

“Are you just pretending to smoke a cigarette?” It was the man on the bench again.

Lena sputtered. “Don’t you have anything better to do than sit here and stare at other people?”

“Not really, no. I’m retired, and I enjoy people watching.” He gestured at the newspaper next to him. “And reading outside.”

Lena groaned and slumped down against the tree. She started to question why she was there at all. For one, she hadn’t found any specific evidence that Talon was cheating. In retrospect, Lena realized she had no idea how spying on them during practice would have uncovered that in the first place.

“Fine. In all honesty, I’m doing some people watching myself. Trying to study the moves of that soccer team there.”

The man looked at her knowingly. “Oh. Well, you wouldn’t be the only one. One of them spies on other teams, too. Except unlike you, she has the good sense to actually take notes when she does it.”

“What?”

“Yeah. The pale one. With the dark hair. Real pretty, kind of standoffish.”

Lena swallowed thickly and bit her lip. She could feel the blood rushing to her head. “Oh. I’d say that’s a pretty lousy thing to do, but here I am doing the same thing.”

The man on the bench simply grunted and picked up his newspaper. Lena turned back to the field. Lacroix was spying on people—that was how she managed to stay two steps ahead of everyone. She’d studied the other teams’ offensive players. She knew all their moves. People are predictable. Especially amateurs in a recreational soccer league.

“So I just have to be _unpredictable_ ,” she muttered aloud.

“Good luck with that.”

Christ, would he leave her alone? She gave him the most withering look she could muster and left. Lena was certain that the notebook belonged to Amélie; she just had to figure out a way to prove it.

* * *

The next morning was the game against Talon.

After weeks of running drills on free days, Lena felt more confident in her ability to surprise even the most observant defender. Like Lacroix. 

She arrived early. She’d gotten sleep the night before, woken up at an appropriate hour, meditated, and even did some yoga. She never did yoga. She ate a healthy breakfast that didn’t sit too heavy. She’d sworn off beer for three weeks before the match. Every part of her was in prime shape, and she had never felt more—Lacroix stepped onto the field in front of her, and her confidence weakened significantly. 

The woman smirked at her, somehow sensing Lena’s fleeting rush of self-esteem. “A little premature for the bravado, no?”

_Just ignore her._

The referee blew the whistle.

Despite incessant cajoling from the other woman, Lena managed to catch her off guard. Fifteen minutes into the game, she carried the ball down the field. Lacroix moved into position, closing in on her. Lena pushed back against her instincts to pass to her teammate – the woman was anticipating this, taking a stance that would allow her to easily intercept the pass. Instead, Lena moved to fake –– she turned her body toward Hana, ready to receive the ball from her, but at the last minute veered in the opposite direction. Lacroix took the bait. Lena pushed back their defensive line and kicked the ball into the goal. 1-0. The first score of the game.

She could hardly believe it. Lena stood in front of the goal, blinking. The goalie, a particularly surly Irishwoman named Moira, scowled at her. “What are you doing? Get back on your side of the field.”

If Lena had any hope that beating Lacroix would get the woman to lay off a little, she lost it after the first goal. If anything, Lacroix seemed to bear down on her harder. She sent smug glances and little verbal jabs at Lena during virtually every play.

And it continued like that for the whole goddamn game. Lena found herself looking at the clock more often than she could count, anxious to run off this field and as far away from the woman’s constant needling as possible. Because it was annoying, of course. And not because it made her blush or feel lightheaded. Because the woman’s smirk was irritating, and not because Lena kept getting tripped up by the perfect curve of her smug lips.

But Lena resolved not to let the woman win whatever mental game she was playing. She turned her entire focus to the game. Her work paid off. With five minutes left, Lena managed to score a second goal. Talon lost, 2-0.

“That’s it, ref! That’s the game!” Jack was already jogging over toward the referee, attempting to get his attention. At last, the man ended the game with a halfhearted whistle, then returned to tapping out some message on his phone.

She’d done it. They actually _won._ Gabriel stomped off the field the second the game was called. The rest of Talon ambled about slowly, muttering a half hearted ‘good game’ here and there. It was like they’d never learned how to react when they lost. One of them, Baptiste, stumbled up to Lena and stuck a stiff arm out. ‘Good game?’

‘Good game,’ Lena repeated slowly, shaking his hand.

And then their hands were covered in a violently pink sports drink. “Hell yeah! We did it!” Hana tossed the bottle on the ground. “Fucking touchdown, bitch!”

“Hana that’s not even—okay, whatever. Did you buy that from a vending machine just to throw on me?”

“Of course not. I bought a six pack before the game. Anyway, I’m off to throw the next one on Jack. Bye!” 

Lena let herself have a moment of celebration, looking up at the scoreboard and smiling. Perhaps there were benefits to caring about winning after all. And maybe Talon would take up a little less space in her head.

A hand clasped on her shoulder, slender fingers dancing dangerously close to her collarbone. Of course. Lena cleared her throat. “What, Lacroix?”

“Congratulations on the victory. I’m impressed.”

Lena didn’t reply, but the woman didn’t leave. Somewhere in the distance she heard Hana laughing madly as Jack shouted after her.

“You should really quit smoking, you know,” Amélie continued. “It’s not good for you.”

“I…don’t smoke.”

“Oh? I thought I saw you with a cigarette the other day.” The smug, sing-song sound of the other woman’s voice made Lena’s ears burn. “My mistake then.”

And both of them knew exactly what she meant.

* * *

“So…Actually, wait one second.” Hana paused, then blew a giant bubble with her gum, letting it pop. “Okay sorry. Why can’t we let Jack know?”

“Did you just interrupt yourself to–”

“Listen Lena, when you’ve got to, you’ve got to. You know?” Hana leaned back in her office chair and gestured for Lena to continue.

“Whatever. Jack can’t know because he’d probably say it was stupid and childish.”

The other girl cocked her head. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m in.”

* * *

Lena winced at the sound of gravel scraping underneath her foot. She paused, biting her lip, waiting for any sort of sign that someone had noticed her presence under the bleachers. Hearing nothing, she kept going, inching toward the bag that she believed to be her target. A quick glance to her right showed that Hana had succeeded at holding Talon’s attention.

“What I’m saying is I’m pretty sure I _can_ take all of you. Especially you, Marie Antoinette.”

“My name is Amélie. And you are holding a basketball.”

“Oh! So it appears that I am.”

…That did not inspire confidence. Lena crawled toward the bag and pulled it underneath the bleachers. She unzipped it and winced as she reached a hand in, digging through its contents. A few seconds of searching led her to find a notebook. Bingo. She shoved it in her bag and stumbled out from under the bleachers, running out of view of the field before Talon got tired of Hana’s bullshit.

Lena Oxton wished that she could describe herself as a patient woman. Well, she actually didn’t really wish that so much. She mostly wished that the world didn’t consistently punish her for her impatience, because she was 26 years old and not about to change. So instead of absconding with the notebook and handing it to Jack or reviewing it somewhere private, she huddled in a relatively secluded corner by a water fountain and gave herself a sneak peek.

The notebook definitely had the incriminating evidence she was looking for. Notes about other teams’ strategies, organized neatly into sections, written in impeccable handwriting. Impeccable handwriting that, as Lena had suspected, matched the writing in the notebook from the bus. Lena flipped frantically through the new notebook, finding the section labelled “Overwatch.” There were notes for each player, listed in alphabetical order. Her eyes immediately caught the notes the woman had written for her.

_“Lena Oxton. Has been running feint drills recently, to limited success. Still reminds me of a border collie.”_

_Are you bloody serious? Still? I can’t win with this woman!_ Lena slammed the notebook shut and began shoving it back into her bag, but paused as she heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. She looked up, locking eyes with Amélie. 

Who, for her part, didn’t seem to be particularly surprised to find Lena there.

“Oh, I have room in my bag for that. Seeing as it’s my notebook.”

Lena knitted her eyebrows together and opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, then opened it again, as if doing so would somehow cause any appropriate response to suddenly appear. It did not. So she stood up and attempted to glare back at the woman, who was admittedly, nearly half a foot taller than her. This also failed.

“The notebook,” Lacroix reiterated, holding out an expectant hand.

“Which one?” 

A look of realization flashed across the other woman’s face. Lena swallowed thickly—she’d caught her off guard, she knew it. It would have felt like a bigger victory if it didn’t also mean the dread of awaiting the inscrutable woman’s answer.

“Both of them.” The taller woman clicked her tongue and darted forward, snatching the other notebook from Lena’s bag.

Who the hell did she think she was, really? “So are you going to explain what the hell these notes are, then? Border Collie, seriously?”

The other woman paused. “Oh. So did you read all of my private diary, or just that part?”

“Oh, no. You are _not_ going to turn this around on me. You’ve been cheating!”

“What I meant was,” Amélie replied, a wry smile spreading across her face, “did you turn to the next page?”

“Of course I bloody—wait, what?” 

The other woman flipped to a page in the notebook, and held it out for Lena to read.

Lena’s tongue suddenly felt very heavy in her mouth. There was no way that this woman, who had bought her a drink at a bar just to make fun of her, had written about her in a journal, and had taken every opportunity to pester Lena could _possibly be attracted to_ —oh. 

_Fuck._

“So, Lena, are you free next weekend?”


End file.
